


Second Choice

by chibifanwriter



Series: Arthur's Choice [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff (maybe?), M/M, Modern Day, Reincarnation, blantant disregard for any arthurian legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibifanwriter/pseuds/chibifanwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is always Gwen whom Arthur chooses first. It doesn’t matter if she’s taken, married, engaged, widowed or single. It is always Gwen whom Arthur chooses first.<br/>And it is Merlin whom Arthur turns to when that relationship goes, as it inevitably does, rotten.</p><p>Or</p><p>Merlin gets sick of seeing Gwen and Arthur together and runs away. Then comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...this was meant to be a short, slightly angsty schmoop about Merlin and Arthur, reincarnation and second and first choices.
> 
> Then it blew up to over 6000 words and...yeah. I don't know what happened either.

It is always Gwen whom Arthur chooses first. It doesn’t matter if she’s taken, married, engaged, widowed or single. It is always Gwen whom Arthur chooses first.

And it is Merlin whom Arthur turns to when that relationship goes, as it inevitably does, rotten.

Gwen is always Arthur’s first choice and that choice is always as destructive as when it was first made. Because Gwen loves Arthur, yes, but she loves Lancelot more and that temptation always shines brighter than anything Arthur can offer.

And it is Merlin who is left to pick up the pieces.

Merlin loves Arthur. In all the lifetimes he remembers (and he is the only one who remembers everything, from Camelot, to the First World War, to now) he has always loved Arthur. He, who is always single or becomes suddenly single when he meets Arthur. He, who Arthur never sees until his world is shattered.

Merlin is no longer surprised when Arthur turns to him. He isn’t surprised when the comfort and friendship he offers turns into something more. He isn’t surprised when the love they share is always compared to Arthur’s first love – and found wanting.

It does surprise him when, at Arthur and Gwen’s 24th engagement party, he realises he’s had enough. This is one of the few times their relationship hasn’t started rocky. They were both single when they met and they’ve been dating since secondary school. Everyone says they’re perfect for each other and Merlin can’t stand it, it hurts too much. And, for the first time, he realises he doesn’t want to.

It’s not like he will be terribly missed – well, not by Arthur, anyway. He’s not Arthur’s best friend. No, this time, that honour belongs to Leon, who’s known Arthur since he was a tow-headed ten year-old, chasing Morgana. It was Morgana (who has known Arthur for longer than either of them care to remember, or say) who met Merlin at university, had taken a near scary liking to him and brought him into their little group (after much persuasion and overtures on her part. Merlin has yet to completely let go of the betrayal and anger from the first time, no matter how many lifetimes she has proved herself true since).

Morgana will miss him, he knows, and the others will notice his absence, but their worlds will not be rocked and besides, it’s easy to keep in touch with Morgana. She’s obsessive (downright scary, really) about checking her Facebook and they’ve always loved emailing back and forth.

So he congratulates them both and tries not to notice how Gwen’s gaze is already straying towards Lancelot (this time, one of Arthur’s footy mates and a colleague). A month later, he moves to America for three years.

It’s there that he meets Will and Freya.

It is funny, that though they played such pivotal roles in his first life (Will as his childhood friend and Freya as his first love), he rarely meets them in other lives.

Will and Freya welcome him with open arms, as they always have. He is stunned to find them a couple (there has been no indication of such a bond forming in the few lives he has met them) but he has to admit, the match suits them. Will is still a bit of an arse (and he has American brashness to top it off now) but Freya tones it down and Will helps her battle her shyness (Merlin has a feeling it’s actually reticence left over from the days she was hunted, but he can’t actually say that).

It is from them he learns to be himself again. Not Merlin waiting for Arthur to come into his life, or Merlin pining for Arthur or even one half of the Arthur and Merlin show. No, he learns how to it is to be _Merlin_ , who defined himself by magic and friends and the things he did for them, instead of just Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_.

(Of course, he has no magic in this life. Magic has long since drained from the world and his had drained with it, but he remembers what is was like, to have that warmth and that power coiled inside of him. He occasionally misses it but is usually content with just remembering. Besides, magic has no place in this time and he’s pretty sure some things wouldn't be invented without it and he likes not having to wait too long for his morning cuppa, thank you very much.)

He lives with Will and Freya, and keeps in touch with Morgana through Facebook and copious amounts of emails and is content. And if he occasionally wonders how or what Arthur is doing, it is only in the privacy of his mind and does not go further. Habits are hard to break, especially if they've had centuries to form.

He attends Will’s and Freya’s hand fasting ceremony (neither of them are particularly traditional and their distrust of ‘institutions of powers’ – Will’s words – still runs deep, whatever life they live) and gets back in time for Morgana and Leon’s wedding.

(He’d been stunned stupid to receive the wedding invitation. It had taken Leon five lifetimes to realise Morgana is his soul mate and every lifetime since, their relationships have been as fiery as Arthur’s and Merlin’s, and sometimes, almost as destructive as Gwen’s and Arthur’s, but none of them had involved marriage. But it’s fitting, he decides on the plane ride over, since he’s never decided to leave Arthur – doesn't matter that they weren't together yet, it’s still leaving – before.)

Morgana is heart stopping gorgeous, Leon looks ready to burst with joy and Arthur makes Merlin’s tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, he looks so good as best man. Gwen, Merlin can’t help but notice, sits next to Lancelot and spends much of the ceremony whispering to him.

But she’s not his concern. Arthur is not Merlin’s concern, not anymore. He’s here to celebrate two of his good friends trying the knot and to tease Morgana endlessly since she once swore she’d never marry, never be tied down by any man.

He corners her at the reception and doesn’t let up until he finds himself on the dance floor.He should have seen it coming, he thinks mournfully as he manfully tries not to step on her toes. Morgana might not be evil and bent on destruction in this life, but she sure as hell is just as devious.

He manages to escape when Uther (Morgana’s godfather and not related to Arthur but still as intimidating as ever to Merlin) sweeps to the rescue. Of whom, Merlin’s not sure.

Clutching a flute of champagne he’s liberated from a passing waiter (and he hopes it wasn't on its way to another guest), Merlin settles down at an abandoned table to watch the action.

Morgana is more radiant and happier than he’s seen her in a long time. Her hair flares out as Uthur twirls her into Leon’s arms. Merlin watches them exchange a few words before Uthur draws his wife (not Ygraine this time) in for a dance. He blinks when Arthur sits down next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” he manages and takes a gulp of champagne in case his mouth decides to do its speaking-without-consulting-brain thing.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner.”

“I’m not actually in the wedding party,” Merlin points out after almost a minute of staring at Arthur.

Arthur shrugs. He’s not looking at Merlin. His eyes are fixed on the dance floor where, Merlin sees, couples are swaying slowly to the music. He spots Gwen and Lancelot and his stomach twists.

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Arthur says, and brings Merlin’s attention back to him, “we’ve missed you these past three years.”

Merlin’s not sure what to say to that. He expected Morgana to say that she’d missed him, expected Leon, Lancelot and Percival to say the same because it’s in their nature. Expected Gwaine to say it because he’s as much Merlin’s friend as he is Arthur’s. He hadn't expected Arthur to say it.

He hadn't expected Arthur to say much to him apart from hello and the few pleasantries society dictated. He had especially not expected Arthur to sit down, next to him, and strike up a conversation.

He and Arthur had not been what could be termed as good friends when he’d left. Yes, he had been part of the group (enough that it was unthinkable to not be invited to parties and outings) and he and Arthur had gotten along well enough for their personalities but they had never been close and Merlin had expected that gap to widen once he’d jetted off for the States.

But of course, Merlin realises, his stomach twisting itself into tighter knots. But of course. Gwen and Lancelot. And Arthur’s second choice.

Merlin would have thought that, with the distance, the fact that they’re not close, Arthur would turn to someone else but, it seems, that’s not the case.

Fate, Merlin decides, hates him.

“I’ve kept in touch,” he finally says, just a bit defensively. “Facebook and the like.”

“It’s not the same.” Now Arthur does look at him and his eyes grab Merlin by the throat. He’s forgotten how blue they are, how intense they get. “We couldn’t just call you up, meet you in the pub or out in the park for a game.”

Now Merlin forces a laugh and he winces at how fake it sounds. “It’s not like I play footy.”

“Not the point _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says, obviously annoyed, and how is it he manages to sound exactly the same when he is annoyed at Merlin, no matter what lifetime, is beyond Merlin’s comprehension.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says finally, when it looks like Arthur isn’t going to continue. He stares down at his half-full glass, the champagne churning in his belly, making him feel slightly sick. “I missed you too. It wasn’t the same, without you – everyone,” he says, almost forgetting to include the group with Arthur.  Arthur doesn’t know about his crush, knows nothing about the almost devastating feelings that sweep through Merlin every time he sees Arthur with Gwen. The only one who has any inkling is Morgana and she thinks it’s a passing fancy, nothing more.

Merlin means to keep it that way.

“You didn’t seem to miss us all that much.” Merlin sees Arthur look at him out the corner of his eye but doesn’t look back. “I saw all those photos you put up on Facebook. With Freya and – Will, was it?”

That makes Merlin smile, the memories behind the photos. “Yeah. Brill, the both of them. Just got married, actually – well the equivalent of married. Married but not really? I’ve no idea how they’re planning to go about informing people. Commitment, maybe?”

“Wait, I thought...”

When Arthur doesn’t finish, just trails off, Merlin finally looks at him. He looks half puzzled and half stunned and all too delectable and suddenly Merlin’s mouth is dry. He takes another gulp of champagne. “Erm, you thought?” He prods when the silence goes on long enough to become uncomfortable.

“You and Will,” Arthur frowns as he shakes his head, those bright blues focusing solely on him. “You’re not – together?”

Merlin gapes at him and his mouth runs off before his brain can catch up. “What? No! How the – _no_! That’s like – Will? No.” He can’t seem to get further than that, can’t seem to go beyond the horrifying thought of him and Will together. “He’s like my _brother_!”

Arthur’s look is one Merlin knows all too well. Beyond sceptical. “Really, Merlin. Like a brother? You’ve known the man less than three years. You’ve known Gwaine near on seven years and you still made out with him that one time.”

“It was one time! And I was drunk!” Merlin hangs his head when he sees Arthur obviously does not believe him. “I don’t – Christ. What made you think Will and I were ever _together_?”

“All those photos.” Arthur waves a hand, frowning. “The ones you put on Facebook. You, him, in pubs and whatnot, grinning your heads off.”

“We were – what about Freya! She’s in half those photos.”

Arthur makes a dismissing noise, one that Merlin is well acquainted with from their time in Camelot. He likes it now about as much as he did then. “I thought she was your friend. It’s like – Gwen and I.”

Now Merlin snorts, and ignores the look Arthur sends him. He doesn’t know what it means anyway. “Except it’s not really like you and Gwen, is it?” Merlin keeps his eyes on the dance floor, on Gwaine flirting with a bridesmaid, Morgana kissing Leon’s cheek, Percival and Elyan fooling around on the dance floor. Anything but Arthur.

“It’s exactly like Gwen and I! People see us together and think we’re friends.”

“Except you’re not!” Now Merlin turns to glare at Arthur, pride and hurt entangled into a messy ball at the back of his throat. He gestures to where Gwen is sitting, practically on Lancelot’s lap, and the words _second choice_ pound in his head. “She’s your wife!”

Arthur stares at Merlin, long enough that Merlin can feel his patience fray and start to snap. “Gwen is _not_ my wife.”

No, of course not, and Merlin realises that before Arthur finishes speaking. He might have been half way ‘cross the world, but he’d still have gotten an invitation to the wedding. “Fine, your fiancée, but really, considering how long the two of you have been engaged, she might as well be your wife. I mean, _three_ years and you still haven’t –”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

That’s a tone Merlin knows it. It’s Arthur’s stop talking, now tone, but it’s never stopped Merlin before. “ – tied the knot, really Arthur, I’m surprised Morgana isn’t jumping down your throat, you know how she gets, especially since she got engaged after you but she’s married before you –”

“ _Merlin!_ ”

That tone makes Merlin stop. It means danger, danger, and has always had the power to make him still and look to Arthur for further commands.

“Gwen and I are not engaged.”

It takes a while for that to sink in. Merlin stares at Arthur, takes the time to blink, try process the words. “What?”

“Gwen and I,” Arthur repeats, slowly and with exaggerated patience, “are _not_ engaged. And we’re not married, either.”

Merlin stares at him a little more. “You and Gwen…separated?”

Arthur looks away, and Merlin looks too, to where Gwen is very obviously holding hands with Lance. They’re whispering to each and can’t look more like a couple if they tried. Merlin’s heart squeezes, once.

“She loves Lance,” Arthur says, and his voice is flat, would have been emotionless if Merlin hadn’t, from the first life, learned to listen below the surface. There is pain there, a wound not yet healed. “It took us a couple of months to realise it. Luckily, we hadn’t gotten too far with the wedding preparations. Father wasn’t too pleased, of course, but we’d only put in deposits, and we got most of those back with just a bit of haggling.” Arthur says the last word the way he used to say _Mercia_ and it makes Merlin’s lips twitch even as his stomach sinks further.

“They love each other,” Arthur concludes. “And I can’t stand in the way of that.”

“No,” Merlin murmurs, hardly aware of what he’s saying. “You never could.”

He’s remembering all the times Arthur’s stood back, let Gwen run to Lance, leaving his heart in the wake. After the First World War, during the Hundred Year War. Over and over, before he turned to Merlin to bury the pain.

“What do you mean?”

Arthur’s voice jolts Merlin back to the present, to Arthur watching him with puzzled blue eyes and a slight frown pulling down the corners of his lips.

“Nothing,” Merlin hastens to say, reminding himself, yet again, that Arthur _doesn’t remember_. None of them do. “Nothing at all. Um, I’m sorry?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, exasperation obvious in his expression. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Who apologises for a separation they weren’t even part of?”

Merlin scowls, rising up to the bait even when he knows he shouldn’t. “I was trying to be _sympathetic_ , you sodding prat.”

Arthur’s eyes turn warm, almost fond and Merlin’s heart stutters. “You obviously need to work on it.”

“I don’t need to work on it, I’m perfectly good at it,” Merlin starts to say, except Arthur lifts his hand and runs his knuckles along the sharp curve of Merlin’s cheekbones. “What?” , is all he manages instead, his voice stopped up in his throat.

“I missed you,” Arthur murmurs, far too close for Merlin’s sanity.

“What?”

“It was stupid.” Arthur frowns and his eyes go slightly different, but he doesn’t pull back. Merlin’s frozen, unable to do more than stare at Arthur, even as he curses his weakness, reminds himself he went to _fucking America_ to avoid this.  “I didn’t even know you all that well, but I still missed you.”

“Er, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Merlin suggests, in what is obviously a misguided attempt to lighten the mood when Arthur’s frown deeps.

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” he says, and pulls away, his hand dropping to Merlin’s shoulder and he can’t _think_ , not when Arthur is rubbing his thumb along the vein, and he’s _still_ talking and how can he expect Merlin to listen?

“ – especially since you’re well, _you_ but…there’s something about you.”

Merlin’s brain only just parses those words when he realises Arthur’s leaning in, the hand on Merlin’s shoulder shifting to cup his neck, tugging him closer and, _oh_ , he can feel Arthur’s breath on his lips and they’re so close and Arthur’s looking at him, those blue, _blue_ eyes not moving from his as he moves closer and closer and –

Lance laughs and Merlin jerks back, heart racing.

Arthur stares at him, surprise evident, mouth still parted from where he’d been _so_ close to kissing Merlin. And Merlin can’t – he just _can’t_. It’s just too much. He can’t stand for it, doesn’t know if his heart can take another lifetime of being second choice and he’s shaking his head and moving back, pushing Arthur’s hand away.

“I can’t. I _won’t_.”

“Merlin.”

“No!”

“Merlin, please –”

“I will _not_ be your second choice. Not ag–” he stops at Arthur’s bewildered expression, remembers that he’s the only one to remember, that Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about. “I have to go,” he manages and jumps to his feet, ignoring that Arthur stands as well and is calling after him as Merlin makes a very fast beeline to the door.

He’s barely reached it when Morgana’s there, hand slamming around his wrist as he reaches to push his way to freedom and, somehow, he ends up on one of the chairs lining the ballroom.

A quick glare from Morgana ensures that anyone close by scurries off, affording them some measure of privacy.

Merlin wants to pull away and run but Morgana’s really strong and, besides, he’s still a little afraid of her. Probably from that time she locked him in that tree, even if they’re been friends as many lifetimes as they’ve been enemies since.

“What,” she says once she’s sure everyone has run off, “are you doing?”

“Fresh air,” Merlin blurts out and squirms in place at her sceptical expression. “I need it. It’s stuffy – in here,” he finishes lamely when Morgana raises a brow and looks pointedly at the balcony doors that are wide open and letting the crisp spring breeze in. “Um.” He tries again. “My boss called?”

Now she looks downright disbelieving and, right, Merlin can’t blame her. “Seriously Merlin? Your boss called?”

Merlin can’t help but cringe. This – this was why he always ended up in the stocks when trying to cover for Arthur. He’s really bad at coming up with spur of the moment lies. Unless it was to Arthur – but Arthur is a different story altogether.

“Merlin,” now Morgana’s voice is soft and her grip is gentle as she takes his chin and tilts it up so he’s looking at her eyes. “You can’t keep running.”

“’M not running!” Merlin’s protest is instinctive and almost dies at her expression – except sheer stubbornness pushes it, and his next protest through. “’M not!”

“And the reason you headed straight for the doors after I saw you and Arthur have a romantic little cuddle–”

“Wasn’t a cuddle! And it wasn’t romantic! He’s straight,” Merlin says hurriedly, remembering his reason for never going after Arthur – in this life anyway. “So wasn’t a cuddle. Or...romantic – please stop looking at me like that. ‘S true.”

“I’d believe you – except I smell bull and it isn’t coming from me.”

“Morgana.” Merlin can’t help the sigh that escapes. He’s tired, he realises. Tired of fighting his feelings, of pretending to be okay – of this vicious cycle that won’t stop circling, even though he’d tried to remove himself from the game. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, and as lovely as it all is – I’m not interested in Arthur anymore. I got over him in America and while it’s a shame he’s single now – he’s straight and I am done.”

He starts to stand but Morgana’s hand on his wrist – and why hadn’t he noticed that she hadn’t let go? – pulls him back down. “A wheel that ever turns. A cycle that never breaks. Except, you broke it, when you went to America. When you weren’t there when Arthur and Gwen’s relationship broke.”

Merlin stares at her, and his mind darts quicker than he realises, connecting the dots he hadn’t realised existed before she finishes speaking. “You remember. You remember it all.”

Morgana snaps her mouth closed and her mouth curves, in a strange parody of a smile that is more sad than happy. “I wish I didn’t. I’d be perfectly happy with not knowing everything I did to hurt you, Merlin. Though now I guess I know why I so wanted to get to know you when I first met you.”

Merlin doesn’t know how to respond, isn’t sure of what to say. His greatest enemy is in front of him, holding his hand and she’s his friend except she remembers everything – and Jesus, this is, by far, the most complicated life he’s had yet.

And yes, that includes the time he and Arthur were step-brothers, and Gwen was their next-door-neighbour growing up.

“Merlin.” Morgana’s voice and the gentle squeeze of her fingers around his wrist brings him back to the moment, has him blinking at her. “Arthur broke up with Gwen, once he realised what her feelings for Lance were, yes, but they’d been drifting apart ages before that.”

“If Gwen had feelings for Lance, then of course they were drifting apart.” Merlin refuses to look at Gwen, or Lance or, even, _god_ , Arthur.

“It started the day you flew off to America. Arthur suddenly seemed to lose interest in the wedding, in the planning – even in Gwen. It was like he was in mourning.” Morgana breaks off with a grimace. “Of course, I only realised this about two weeks later, after my memories had finished driving me insane. By then, well, everyone could see they were having problems.”

“I don’t –”

“Just listen, Merlin. Please.”

Merlin takes a breath and reminds himself that, yes, Morgana has all her memories, but she is still his friend and isn’t bent on his destruction. He hopes. “All right,” he says, and mimes zipping his lips and tossing the key away.

Morgana lets out a low chuckle at that. “Arthur did miss you, you know. He asked me about you, almost every other day. If I didn’t – remember – I would have found him insufferable.” Morgana releases his wrist now, to cup his face. “That damned dragon was right, you know. You _are_ two sides of the same coin, and no one, not even Arthur’s beloved Guinevere can get in the middle of that.”

She stops, looks at him expectantly, and Merlin realises she’s waiting for a response. Before he can do more than open his mouth though, there’s someone standing beside them.

Merlin looks up and into Leon’s eyes. “Er, hi?”

“Hello Merlin,” Leon says, and a large hand takes Morgana’s free one. “If you’ll excuse me, I need my wife.”

When he says _wife_ , his face and voice go all fuzzy, and Merlin knows without looking that Morgana’s got the same expression. It would be disgusting if it weren’t so heart-warming. “Go on then,” he says, partially because they’re just so gooey, they make him laugh, and partially because it gets him out of what was developing into a very awkward conversation to examine feelings he would rather not, thank you very much.

Leon nods and tugs Morgana to her feet, pulling her away with a _don’t leave me alone again, if you please, Gwaine’s planning something, I’m sure of it_. And that’s when Merlin sees Arthur and his whole brain-to-mouth filter disappears. “Don’t tell me you ratted us out.”

“And don’t tell me you’re having some wild affair with Morgana.”

“I could be!”

Arthur rolls his eyes and drops into Morgana’s abandoned seat. Merlin tries not to notice the way he puts his arms on the back of the surrounding chairs, including the one Merlin’s perched on. “You’re _gay_ Merlin,” he says, as if Merlin needs any sort of reminder.

“Doesn’t mean Morgana and I can’t have a secret, hetero affair.”

“Is that what you’re calling your friendship nowadays?” Arthur’s raising a brow and Merlin realises he’s moved in, that they both have and that they mind as well be sharing the same chair, they’re so close.

Merlin makes to move away, to get up, but Arthur’s suddenly got a hand clamped on his. “Stop running away.”

“’M not!” Merlin says and tries to wriggle his hand free.

“You’re saying that yet you’re still moving away,” Arthur points out and uses his hold to pull Merlin closer.

Merlin is wishing wildly that he still had his magic when Arthur’s other hand slides into his hair and pulls his head close. Merlin closes his eyes, hates it and wants it and _knows_ he’s going to melt and forget everything he’s planned, everything but Arthur as soon as Arthur’s lips are on his.

Except Arthur stops pulling him with their lips inches away – Merlin can feel Arthur’s breath on his lips and waits and waits, but Arthur doesn’t do anything.

Slowly, he opens his eyes.

Arthur is staring at him and, as Merlin stares back, Arthur slowly releases his wrist and lifts his hand, uses his thumb to wipe Merlin’s bottom lip. Merlin takes in a shaky breath – he’d been holding his breath and he hadn’t even noticed and how had he not fainted? – and lets it out.

“You’re not a replacement, or a rebound or anything like that.”

“What?”

“That’s what you meant, right?” Arthur asks, and those bright blues are too close, too serious for Merlin’s peace of mind. “When you said second choice. You’re not, you know. I mean, I’ve had my rebound relationship.” Arthur grimaces. “If you can call it that.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you’re not. I,” here, Arthur hesitates. “Iwasthinkingofyou,” he finally says in a rush.

While Merlin blinks and tries to figure out what Arthur just said, Arthur keeps talking. “After you left for America. I kept thinking of you.”

“Gwen,” Merlin manages and then Arthur is shaking his head, cutting him off by pressing his thumb against Merlin’s lip. Merlin had forgotten it was there, resting lightly against the corner of his mouth.

“It had nothing to do with Gwen. And that was the problem,” Arthur added, more in a mutter than anything, making Merlin wonder if he’d meant to say anything at all. “Gwen and I – we fell apart. She was thinking of Lance and I was thinking of you and, well, it’s obvious now it wouldn’t have worked out.”

“You two have been together since secondary,” Merlin points out. “It should have worked out.”

“Were,” Arthur corrects and grimaces, his _I-can’t-believe-I’m-having-this-conversation_ face. “And we were comfortable, I guess. I mean, it felt good with Gwen, but not, well, _right_. It. It feels right, just thinking of you.” He’s rubbing his thumb along Merlin’s bottom lip and Merlin can feel his lips parting automatically but all he can think of are Arthur, Arthur’s eyes and the way he’s looking at him.

Like Merlin’s the centre of Arthur’s world, like Merlin’s the most important thing. Like he’s _Gwen_.

“I want to try things with you.” Arthur says. “I want to stop thinking of things to do to you, and actually _do_ them.”

Merlin takes a shaky breath. His heart is thudding in his ears and he can’t seem to see anything other than Arthur, feel anything other than Arthur.

And it’s only Arthur’s hand on Merlin’s, his thumb on Merlin’s lip.

“Merlin, say something. Merlin. Are you even –”

Merlin surges forward without thinking, and his lips are on Arthur’s, his hands curving around Arthur’s faces without any instruction from him. He feels Arthur’s hands fall away, then they’re curling around Merlin’s waist, tugging him closer.

Merlin closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation, the _rightness_ of kissing Arthur. He feels Arthur’s tongue slick across his lips, opens his mouth and the kiss deepens and _– oh_.

This. This is what he’s been missing. This is what he’s always missing in every life he lives – until Arthur turns to him and he lets him and they’re together.

When Arthur pulls away, Merlin’s panting. He’s also half in Arthur’s lap and his fingers are tangled in Arthur’s hair. “What are we doing?” Arthur says, and Merlin shudders as his breath plays over Merlin’s kiss-sensitive lips.

It takes Merlin a while to parse the question. He doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t know the answer.

In all the lives they’ve lead, Arthur has been the aggressor. The first to kiss, the first to take it further. Of course, usually it’s a moment of passion – they have fast, hard sex, Arthur wakes up the next day and promptly freaks out, they don’t speak for two to three weeks, and then Arthur gets his head together, asks Merlin out, and Merlin spends the rest of their lives ignoring the sinking feeling of being second choice.

But now Arthur’s the aggressor, yes, but Merlin’s the one who kissed first, and he has no idea what to do - or what he’s doing. None of their other lives have been like this and his head hurts trying to comprehend it all.

Arthur’s fingers moving through his hair helps ease the headache. Merlin blinks and stares at him. “What are we doing?” Arthur asks again, his voice soft and almost hesitant (if Merlin didn’t know Arthur, and he _does_ and Arthur doesn’t _do_ hesitant, never has, never will).

“Making out,” Merlin says, and yeah, he’s totally lost that brain-to-mouth filter. “Or, that’s what the Americans say. Here, in good old England, we just call it snogging.”

Arthur lets out a low chuckle, and presses his forehead against Merlin’s. “Arse,” he says, the tone fond. “You know that’s not what I mean. This, Merlin, us.” He swipes his thumb along Merlin’s damp bottom lip and shorts out Merlin’s brain again. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin finally admits, pulling back so there’s some semblance of personal space. “I don’t-” he stops and closes his eyes. “I’m me. I’ll always be me, and I can never be Gwen, or like Gwen and-”

Arthur’s sudden death grip on Merlin’s hips has his words stuttering to silence. “I don’t _want_ you to be Gwen. Or like her.”

The ferocity of those words make Merlin open his eyes and stare down at Arthur’s. “I just want you,” Arthur mutters and doesn’t seem to realise how cheesy those words are.

Merlin does though and he can’t resist a little giggle. Arthur’s eyes narrow and his grip on Merlin’s hip - already tight, by the way - tightens. “I don’t want Gwen,” Arthur repeats and Merlin’s giggle goes off to dig itself a hole and die. “It took me a while to figure it out - too long actually - but I don’t want Gwen.” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. “I want a skinny body and big ears,” he continues, ignoring Merlin’s indignant _hey_ \- because, really, he’s put on some muscle, damnit, he has! - “I want stupid jokes about coffee, and giggles and dark hair and blue eyes.” Arthur pulls away to press a kiss to Merlin’s neck. “It took me way too long to figure it out,” he opens his eyes and looks directly into Merlin’s. “But it’s you I want.”

Merlin can feel himself melt, some part of him - that part that has always and consistently reminds him of their past relationships, their past failures - just poof and he’s running his fingers through Arthur’s hair again, cupping his face. “That was,” he says, “amazingly sweet.” Then a suspicion rises. “Did you come up with it by yourself?”

Arthur at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “Morgana might have helped me out some.”

At that, Merlin lets out a bark of laughter - because that, that is so _Arthur_ \- and his whole body softens, collapsing into Arthur’s. Arthur makes a pleased sound and wraps his arm around Merlin, tugging and pulling until Merlin’s fully in Arthur’s lap. “You’re mine, Merlin,” Arthur whispers in his ear, hard and possessive, and Merlin can’t stop the little shiver that trips down his spine.

He closes his eyes and rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder and, for the first time in a long, long (several lifetimes worth of long, actually) time, lets himself hope.

And of course that’s when their friends pounce on them, Percy and Elyan laughing in the background as Gwaine hauls Merlin off and Arthur sputters in indignation. Arthur grabs for Merlin but Gwaine doesn’t let him go and Merlin spends a few dizzying seconds as a tug toy between the two before Gwen (sweet-hearted, kind Gwen and how could Merlin have let himself forget that they are often the best of friends?) rescues him.

Arthur immediately gives up his struggle with Gwaine to graft himself to Merlin’s side and glare whenever Gwaine comes so much as five feet close to Merlin. They spend almost the rest of the night like that, until Leon appears to drag Arthur off for some best man thing and Morgana pulls Merlin into her gaggle of bridesmaids.

Apparently, she’s using them as a shield to cup Merlin’s face and smile. “You’ve figured it out then, have you?”

“Two sides of a coin,” Merlin says and cups his hands over hers. “Yeah, mostly I guess.” He hesitates and gives a minute shrug. “It’s not going to go away, all my doubts and insecurities, not all at once.”

“Give it time,” Morgana says and makes it sound like a promise. “And they will.”

Merlin can only smile then, and pull away, watch her be swept up by Leon as they run through a tunnel of friends. She looks happy, he decides, brilliantly, gloriously happy, especially when Leon lifts the hand he’s got a hold of to his lips. She laughs then, head thrown back, delight in her eyes and that’s the last Merlin sees of her as the couple leave the room.

He feels a warm hand close over his and turns to look at Arthur. Arthur smiles (actually, it’s more of a smirk but Merlin’s feeling generous) and brings Merlin’s hand up to his lips. Merlin smacks him. Out of principle.

(In their next life, Merlin and Arthur grow up together and are best friends. They meet Gwen fresh out of university and when Arthur is talking about asking her out, Merlin tells him he’s off to see the world, and flees. He makes it as far as Egypt before Arthur catches him. Arthur kisses him in the shadows of the Pyramid of Giza and informs him that he’s an idiot and he hadn’t needed to run halfway across the world to get Arthur to realise his feelings. Merlin points out that he hadn’t actually made it halfway around the world. Arthur’s response is to roll his eyes and tug Merlin in for another kiss.

In the life after that, Merlin meets Arthur when they’re seventeen. Merlin spends their acquaintance flirting madly until Arthur corners him during a mutual friend’s (Leon’s) Halloween party and declares that Merlin has turned him, if not bisexual, then gay. Merlin answers him with a kiss and they make out in a closet until Leon has to kick them out before his parents come home. They meet Gwen at Morgana’s wedding and Arthur immediately plots how to hook her up with his rugby mate, Lance. Merlin just laughs, pulls him in for a kiss and informs him they need Morgana’s help.)

 


	2. Egypt isn't halfway across the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda kind of thing? Merthurcrazy asked for something like this and it got its hooks into my brain so yeah. Enjoy!

Egypt is hot and dry, just like the travel guides said. One thing they forgot to mention is the sand. It gets everywhere, dusty clouds rising up wherever people walk. It’s noisy and crowded and the smell can sometimes get horrendous. 

But it’s miles away from the sleepy hamlet Merlin had been born into in his life and that’s what he’s looking for.

The sun’s beating down on the Pyramids of Giza complex, almost unbearably hot. Merlin can see heat waves off in the distance, rippling the air. The tour group he tagged along with is wandering around the base of the Sphinx but Merlin’s chosen to take a break, sitting on the ground in the shadows cast by the Great Pyramid. 

He should put on sunscreen—he’s been reborn with pasty skin that burns more than it tans—but he can hear Arthur’s voice, nagging him about sun protection, mocking him for his inability to stay in the sun for more than a few hours without turning red, and some perverse emotion makes him reach for his water rather than his sunscreen.

He’s lanky as is per usual in his reincarnations, with a top of dusty blond hair instead of dark and brown eyes instead of blue. Apart from his pale skin, he blends into the sand and pyramids, which is probably why Arthur nearly trips over him.

“Merlin!”

Merlin lowers the water bottle, blinks at his wet shorts. “You made me spill my water, you plonker.” Then he registers the incongruity of Arthur being in front of him and switches from gaping at his wet shorts to gaping at his best friend. “Arthur? What are you doing in Egypt?”

“I could ask you the same thing—actually, I should be asking you that! What the hell were you thinking, a world trip?” True to character, Arthur props his hand on his hips and scowls at him.

In this life, Arthur wears his dark brown hair short on the sides and long on top. His eyes are green and his skin is tanned from hours of rugby and football. He’s gorgeous, of course, and Merlin really hates him for it.

Well, he would if he wasn’t completely head-over-heels for the bloody arse. 

Merlin rolls the bottle of water in his hands, shrugs. “I told you, I want to see the world. I’ve been through Europe and most of the Middle East. Egypt was next on my list after Jordan.” 

Arthur’s scowl deepens and he reaches down, grabs Merlin by his upper arms and hauls him to his feet. Merlin yelps, dropping his water bottle as he stumbles into Arthur. “You’re an idiot. A stupid, ignorant, fucking fool.” 

And before Merlin can do more than open his mouth to start protesting, Arthur slams his mouth down onto Merlin’s. It’s not so much a kiss as it is a mashing of mouths.

But then Merlin—before he can stop himself, even as the words _second choice, Jesus Gwen must have dumped him early, Christ, stop Merlin stop_ —feels his lips soften, his mouth open, feels himself shift. He closes his eyes, allows Arthur to pull him closer, to slide his hands from Merlin’s upper arms to his waist. 

He’s weak, fucking hell, he’s so weak for his man, but he lifts his arms, wraps them around Arthur’s waist and holds on tight.

By the time Arthur lifts his head, Merlin’s dizzy from a mixture of lust and longing. He drops his head to Arthur’s shoulder, tries to catch his breath. He’s aware Arthur’s saying something but he can’t hear it, can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears.

He shakes his head to clear it. “What—what was that?”

“That,” Arthur says in a familiar pompous tone, “was a kiss. I know you’re not so innocent that you don’t know what a kiss is.”

Merlin thumps Arthur in the side. “You know what the fuck I mean! What was that kiss? Since when do you—me—you’re not even gay!”

Arthur sighs. “Damn you Merlin.” He murmurs, and Merlin’s startled to realise Arthur’s cupped his face, thumb rubbing along Merlin’s cheek. “When you left, I was lost. So fucking—it took two weeks, more alcohol than I care to recall, and a painful talking to from Gwen that I’d pay to never have to sit through again but I finally figured it out.”

Merlin eyes him warily because no matter what life they’re in, Arthur figuring things out rarely leads to good things.

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur says and kisses Merlin’s brow. “You didn’t have to run halfway across the world to get me to realise my feelings.”

Merlin stares at him, uncomprehendingly. Arthur continues rubbing his thumb along Merlin’s cheek. “You were gone. You were my life and then you left and I didn’t even realise how gone for you I was until I crawled out the bottle the third day after to find Gwen standing in front of me with an AA pamphlet in hand.” Arthur closes his eyes, presses his brow to Merlin’s. “I love you Merlin. I love you so don’t you dare leave me again.”

Merlin’s mind is blank but his mouth is moving and he hears himself say, “technically, I didn’t make it halfway round the world.”

Arthur stares at him, then rolls his eyes and bends his head, giving Merlin a fast, hard kiss. “I going to take that as an ‘I love you too’.”

Merlin smirks, hope rising and drowning out that stupid voice. “You do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted on my LJ if you prefer it. (If anyone can tell me how to post links on the notes, that'd be great. Thanks!)
> 
> Edit: am an idiot who did not put link to LJ post. Here you go:
> 
> http://chibiblogger.livejournal.com/6764.html


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